


A Special Note On Halfsies (Part II)

by SaltyWords (agent4hire22)



Series: From Halves to a Whole [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Come as Lube, Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Some Humor, Wall Sex, brief moments of dom/sub, of course that's a tag, season 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 08:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17763719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent4hire22/pseuds/SaltyWords
Summary: “This is not gambling, Dean. You’re asking me hypotheticals," Cas said, "but I’m telling you I’m already here.”Then, his hand dropped way. Nothing holding Dean there but the heat.The want.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **  
> **  
> [Part I is here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17608559)  
>  Note: [I know this is after 14x12 now, but I still stand by the idea that there’s no way that’s what Billie’s book says. I also apologize that this is split. You can thank impatient drunk me for that. Then again, I could always keep adding on...

“No,” Dean said slowly, carefully, eyes closed and fingers wrapping the lip of the sink hard enough to dent the porcelain. He breathed the word in like an affirmation, tried not to think of Cas or that kiss or any of the ridiculous shit he’d said because, Dean was going to do this. _He had to._ It was his moral imperative not to gamble with the planet this time, and something as abstract as happiness was nowhere to start laying bricks. 

Maybe if he snuck out now—random day, random time—he’d get this done without a tail. He’d pay a fisherman like he planned, charter a boat, and get it over with. No Sammy. No Cas. The less they knew, the easier it’d be for them to move on. 

_Cas could move on._

Dean opened his eyes, stared himself down in the mirror, tried not to see the little blue cross sigil Cas had drawn at his temple—

_“Do you think it would also help here?”_ he’d asked, finger brushing and eyes talking loud even when he wasn’t. It was the first thing he’d said since the big gut-spill and Dean couldn’t forget the chills his voice culled. Or how close they’d been sitting. The tilt of Cas’ head when he asked it— not quite looking at Dean but not quite looking at the little patch of skin in question, either. Dean had wanted to kiss him again. Knew in an instant that they’d still be glued together recycling each other's air if Jack hadn’t bounded into the library and broken the party up asking if they needed help picking warding or drawing anything on. Then, of course, sticking around just to yammer about the car ride to and from New York, leaving Cas to chew his cheeks and silently work sigils out on Dean’s arms with markers. 

But, that was the thing about unfinished conversations—and kids, _apparently_ —they had a habit of sticking around. 

Still, it’d damn near taken an act of God to keep Dean from stealing another kiss, with or without Jack there, so it was something that needed the kibosh quicker than yesterday. It’d already grown enough legs to shame a millipede.

He turned the hot water knob, splashed and scrubbed his face. “No,” he said again, to his hands this time. “Get it outta your head. You already know you an’ Cas ain’t gonna fix this.” 

The next time he looked up, it was straight at the sigil, freshly smeared; proof enough, he supposed, that no matter how hard Cas tried to help with this, Dean would always ruin it. Then again, he’d also never admit he was fishing for literally anything to hang this decision on. 

He growled and slapped the water off. Turned to the closet and grabbed a coat, a second shirt. His softest, most favorite band tee. He passed up shoes and underwear, the small box of photos he’d kept close to his chest over the years and strung what he had over an arm, rounded the bed in a straight beeline for the door. But, he stopped short. Snagged on the sight of Billie’s book; just sitting there at the edge of his mattress… _waiting_. 

He swallowed, hugged the clothes close to his body, and took a hesitant step toward it. Thumbed the leather and flipped the cover open, stared at those four innocuous lines. 

_Dean Winchester_

_January 24th, 1979 - May 25th, 2062_

_Cause of death: congestive heart failure_

_Was loved_

In reality, there wasn’t much there to write home about. Dean wasn’t stupid, he knew he was extrapolating. But he also knew there was only one way he lived to be that old, and it was by living the life he hadn’t got to yet. So, when he read it this time, it didn’t take much of a jump to see Cas in all the empty spaces. 

It was like the whole page was a negative of the ebb and flow of their entire life together; diner breakfasts and long drives. Cas suggesting Dean cut back on the bacon or else it’ll kill him, and Dean waiting till May 24th, 2062 to admit Cas was about to be really right about that— _but that every piece had been fucking worth it_ — just so he could kiss that stupid, frustrated scowl, he only ever reserved for Dean, from his face one more time.

He saw them fighting about dumb things and then making up. He saw them hunting together and sewing up each other’s bad scrapes. He saw himself hitting the bottle less, falling asleep in front of _Nova: Science Now!_ more while Cas ate unbuttered popcorn for some godforsaken reason and talked back to the narrator. 

Of course, they did a lot of that crap already… 

“Oh, hell,” Dean muttered to his room. There was nothing to say no to. It’d already happened at some point. “I’m in love with him… ”

He felt his resolve crumbling, little rays of hope— _of want_ —coming in and knocking out the bricks. He shoved a hand into his stomach, tried to tamp those pesky butterflies, because even if he did— _even if they did—_ how could he be sure it’d work? How could he be sure they’d be enough to keep Michael at bay? 

The ma’lik box was the only way to be sure— 

_Right?_

He suddenly couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel his feet. His heart hitched a ride in his throat as his nightmare came crashing back into his frontal cortex with a vengeance. He could smell the saltwater, feel it leaking on his face. The ocean sounds. The wood cracking. His bloody, nailless fingers clawing into the wood.

_The pitch-fucking-black—_

He rushed the bedroom door, panic trailing, and nearly collided with Cas on the other side. 

Cas caught him with wide eyes and a flat hand to his chest, swaying back enough to avoid whatever slopped out of the mug he was holding. “Whoa— It’s just me,” he said quickly. “I just came… I wanted to— Are you alright?”

Dean blinked, took a breath with lungs full of pins and needles. “No,” he managed. 

“No, of course not. Why would you be?” Cas cleared his throat, held out the mug. “I, uh, I brought you tea. We were out of coffee, plus I didn’t know if you wanted any this late, but—” He cleared his throat again. “I, actually— Dean, I wanted to apologize,” he said finally. 

Dean’s stomach did its best impression of the Tilt-A-Whirl. “Why?”

_—Because he’s taking it back, Dean. He doesn’t really love you and now you’re gonna hafta get buried in a box—_

_What does it matter? You’re SUPPOSED TO get in the fucking box—_

“Just… Because, I might’ve been too forward, earlier, and that wasn’t my intention.” He wrapped hands around the mug again when Dean didn’t take it, fingers sliding nervously over the happy sun illustration; it was his cup. Dean had bought it for him at a small coast shop in Oregon. Held it up as direct juxtaposition Cas’ seeded frown—

_“See? Looks like you.”_

_“In what way does that look like me?”_

_“Just does.”_

_—_ And, intentional or not, the sight of it brought a wave of feelings to his eyes in tears. “I didn’t mean to imply that your happy ending was with me,“ he continued. “Or even that it could be with me— I only wanted you to be open to the idea that happiness is possible, too. I need you to… be open to the idea—” His eyes suddenly tagged the load of clothes in Dean’s arm. “You… You’re leaving?”

The world felt like it was tipping. “What if it is you?” Dean blurted. 

“What—?”

He dropped the clothes, got a handhold at the back of Cas’ head and pulled him in, foreheads together and barely enough space to breathe. “What if it was you an’ me— _like this_ — for the next forty-odd years?” he asked. The question wormed in his chest, his throat. Made his voice wobbly.

Cas huffed, nose coming up to nest alongside Dean’s. Lips brushing like they were crossing a velvet rope. “I’d be there,” he whispered back, a new urgency painting his voice blue. 

“Michael in my head and stupid fights and splittin’ time with Sammy—?”

“Yes— All of it, I’d be there,” he said again, no hesitation. The stayed kiss percolated the air between them, built the heat.

Dean ran a hand down his face, let himself enjoy the sting of Cas’ stubble. The tears he was holding off slipped free, made Cas blurry. “I want it,” he confessed, greedily watching those three stupid words make a home in Cas’ face before shoving him away. “But I can’t. It’s too much of a fucking gamble—”

Cas shrugged him off, came back. “Is it? You don’t believe me? Trust me?”

“This ain’t just a _you an’ me thing_ — This is about what could happen to the entire planet!”

Cas hooked a tea-warmed hand on the back of Dean’s neck, pulled them together again. Spoke soft. “I think you should consider _everything_ we’ve achieved with one another before you tell me _this_ is the gamble you’re afraid to take,” he said. He slid his touch down Dean’s nape, fingers curling softly against his skin. He palmed Dean’s jaw, turned their noses together. Ran a thumb over Dean’s bottom lip, whisper-soft. “ _This_ is not gambling, Dean. You’re asking me hypotheticals, but I’m telling you I’m already here.” 

Then, his hand dropped way. Nothing held Dean there but the heat.

_The want._

Something in his head clicked into place. “You’re here—” he echoed. He couldn’t fight it anymore, finally landed the kiss. Desperate and hot with that stubble burn. Tasted Cas; warm peppermint on his tongue like he’d downed a few mugfuls himself before getting the nerve to bring Dean one. 

Dean huffed at the thought. Felt the breath churn all that roosted energy Cas was carrying into something heavy. He grabbed a quick nip of Cas’ lip, threaded hands inside his coat, slid up his sides. Wobbled back as Cas fisted the front of Dean’s tee, a wild whine crawling out of him with all that signature gravel now mysteriously missing.

More tea spilled, splattered at their feet.

Somewhere at the other end of the bunker, a door shut. A chair skid back against the wood grain. 

Dean’s heart kicked in his chest. Jack wasn’t allowed to stop this. Sam— _Fucking Crowley, coming back from the dead just to mock them—_

He grabbed Cas by a handful of coat and pulled him into the room. Ended up with his back pressed against the closed door as Cas took control, spun them. The old doorknob rattling as they fell against it, melted together. Cas burying a wet kiss into Dean’s neck, teeth grazing and body heavy. Dean groaned, rolled hips into him, felt Cas hard in his slacks. 

_Fuck—_ He wanted it. _All of it._

“Don’t stop,” he begged, pulling the tails of Cas’ shirt from his pants, sliding up the patch of skin he’d unearthed to just live in the heat there. 

Cas straightened, teased an open mouth over Dean’s as he arched. “Anything,” he relented. “Anything for you—” Dean chased him, breathed him in. Realized that same erratic ozone smell was curling in on them again. Electricity in his skin like static cling— Turns out it didn’t only happen when he was pissed.

Dean pulled Cas’ tie, unknotted it and tossed it away. Started in on his buttons before he noticed Cas’ arms had gone stiff at his sides. Fingers crooked and hands floating, unsure. One of them still clinging to the tea for dear life.

Dean kicked himself. “Shit— It’s too fast,” he said. He wanted to swallow his own fucking tongue.

“I— No. I want to,” Cas huffed. He palmed Dean’s chest like he was trying to get started again. Slid down his stomach, pecked his belt. Stopped again, eyes squeezing shut. “It’s just I— And you’re… ” he stumbled. He opened them and they caught the golden bedroom light, dancing through Dean’s face. Jaw tightening as he swallowed something down. 

Dean had seen that expression once before in a brothel at the end of the world; _Cas was nervous._ It knotted fondness in Dean’s chest, tied a bow— all of Cas’ insecurities unearthed before he’d ever even lost the coat. 

Dean let a smile slip as he plucked the mug from Cas’ grasp and ditched it on the sink beside them. “Okay, easy,” he said. He shrugged Cas’ coat from his shoulders, took care to move slowly, stop and listen to it make a pile on the floor. Then, he walked Cas’ hips closer. Buried a kiss in his temple, sweet. “You ain’t gonna disappoint me,” he whispered. He took one of Cas’ hands, laced their fingers together. Leaned back far enough to chase that gold light through his eyes. “I just need it to be you an’ me, Cas. That’s it. Understand?” Then again, even quieter. “Castiel.”

It took him a beat, but Cas got his confidence back, pulled Dean’s belt from the loop. His button. His zipper. Pushed Dean’s hips into the door. Dean _lived_ in his face as he did it.There was no music on, but there might as well have been cuz those blue eyes were playing rich tones. 

Dean tried to smile at it, the little bit of _cocky_ he was serving turning Cas’ cheeks scarlet, but Cas countered, jumping that rush of heat back into him as he palmed Dean through his jeans. Pinned him to the door with a kiss. Slipped warm fingers in Dean’s pants and pulled him free.

Dean was hard and Cas worked him with a wrist loose in just the right way and enough pressure to coax a moan on the first pass. Then, again, slow on the way down, with a perfect twist at the top. Dean gasped, clawed at Cas’ sleeve just to hold it— _roller coaster is about to start, hang onto the safety bar!_ His stomach curled. Knees threatened to give. Cas was nothing if not full of surprises. Dean was sure this would be the one that did him in. “Jesus—” 

Cas’ eyes ate, hungry, through Dean’s face. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he confessed, little scribble of a frown tying his brow together like he was memorizing it. It felt like that blue was going to tear through Dean’s chest. His soul. Brand him with raised handprint scars in all the right places. 

_There was naked, and then there was this._

Dean’s cheeks burned. “Cas—” He tried to smother it in a kiss, but Cas denied it. Kept eyes on him, breath heavy in Dean’s ear. It was too much. He buried his face in Cas’ shoulder, hand slipping up Cas’ arm to the elbow and into a fistful of shirt. He felt like he just needed to hold on— 

“No,” Cas demanded. “I need you to look at me.” Dean’s heart went into his throat. He paused but peeled up, felt heavy. Beside himself. He found a home in Cas’ face again, head flat against the door as Cas pushed him into it. Worked him steady, thumb curling over the top of Dean’s dick and slicking a bead of wet down again. No forgiveness in his technique. Firework already burning hot at the base of Dean’s gut. 

The frame rattled, but neither of them paid it any attention. Dean pulled at Cas’ buttons, his belt. Couldn’t quite get him unwrapped before he came. 

He wasn’t quiet about it, open mouth and riding Cas’ fist shamelessly. Hands up under his shirt now because the guy just had too many layers for this— _for fuck’s sake—_ and Dean needed to feel his body flex. If Cas hadn’t been holding him to the door, Dean knew he’d be a pile on the floor beside the discarded clothes, and he’d be happy about it. He’d be slipping into Cas’ coat and wearing it like his high school fling wore his one-off football jersey that fall week in ‘97 between hunts. “I love you, too,” he confessed, breathless.

Cas’ face went wide, surprised. It was the first thing to press that frown out of him since Dean could remember, and it hurt. It felt like a knife to his chest. 

_He really didn’t know. All this, and he really didn’t know._

Dean buried into the front of him again, listened to him breathe. “I love you, too,” he repeated to the white cotton. Cas’ chest jumped under him, unsteady breath. Dean hooked the open edge of his collar and pressed a kiss in this dip of his breastbone, felt his heart beating under hot skin. “I love you, Cas.” 

He trailed up, lips lingering. Kissed his collarbone. His neck. His jaw. Found his mouth again as he slipped Cas’ zipper down, savored him hard in his slacks with a soft touch before taking him out of them. Gathering up his own spend and slicking a fist over Cas’ pinked tip. 

Cas moaned, neck going slack and head rolling into Dean. Dean took the hit, welcomed the rough kiss that followed. “I’ve got you,” he said, and, _fuck_ , he meant it this time. He trailed the nerve at the bottom, slipped back up to finger the top. Teasing at first, then firmer. 

Cas’ eyes rolled shut, a depraved noise crawling out of his chest and into Dean’s ear. Dean washed in a wave of goosebumps, felt the shift of electricity in the air. He fished a hand under Cas’ shirt again, then down over his ass. He nipped Cas’ neck, felt his hips shift and ride Dean’s rhythm. “You gonna drive me like that one day?” he asked, couldn’t help himself. 

Cas leveled that hungry look on him again. Something fresh in it this time that had more words than a fucking dictionary. Dean kissed it away. Chased the blotchy flush that’d spread up his neck. Matched his thready breath. Static in the air crackled, raised the hairs on Dean’s arms. “Say it again,” Cas begged into his mouth.

“What?”

“Tell me you love me.”

Dean got a wild hair and chased that too. “Hmm, naw,” he hummed. Cas’ face ripped into a smile. Something so broad and sincere it almost took Dean’s knees out after all. 

“Why are you— _always—_ difficult?” he groused. 

It was easy— _Shit like this was never this easy_ —and it suddenly all made sense; watching Cas come undone in his hand was the soul food Dean had been starving for. “God, I love you,” he whispered.

Cas tipped, came with a muffled gasp into the side of Dean’s neck. He spilled hot over Dean’s hand, dripped onto the floor like the tea. Grace suddenly flickered through the room in icy blues. The electricity surged, the lightbulbs in the room popped. Shattered. “Shit—” Dean tucked against the door, surprised. Cas hunching over him, shielding Dean’s face with a pair of cupped hands. 

The red emergency lights clicked on, hummed into the dark as the last of the glass settled. Dean cracked an eye. Found Cas staring at him, stunned expression plastered on and hands still tenting. “I am… _so sorry_ ,” he said stiffly. 

Dean swallowed, peered around him at the thrashed room. “Okay,” he huffed. “I’m just gonna say it… I don’t think you get off enough.”

——

Dean set the mug down, fresh steam rolling from it. New tea tag dangling off the side like jewelry. He curled hands around the ceramic, watched Cas work the sharded bulb stem from the lamp. Somewhere between this one and the last, a comfortable frown had settled into his face again. Dean twisted the mug, lined it up so the happy sun beat back in comedic contrast. 

“What’re you smiling about?” he poked, leaning back in the chair. 

Cas pushed his shirtsleeve up, flush courtesy of Dean still painting his face, softening the shadows. His eyes slid over, tagged Dean with the corners. “What?” he grumbled, then, “It’s not all of them— Do you think it’s all of them?”

Dean vaguely entertained the idea of lying. Thumbed the tea tag. _‘Herbal Peppermint’_ it read. _‘For the Soul.’_

_Peppermint like gum. Peppermint like Christmas. Peppermint like Cas’ mouth…_ ”Uh,” he shrugged. “No. Not all of ‘em… just all the ones I’ve seen.”

“The kitchen too? Great. That’s wonderful.”

“Relax. I already swept it.” Dean took a sip, pushed from his chair and slid the mug over. “Here, try this,” he said, tucking a hip up next to Cas along the long mahogany lip.

Cas eyed it. “Why? What’s wrong with it?” He finished twisting a new bulb in, and the library washed with warm yellow. It unfairly picked up the kindness in his face. “You don’t like peppermint?” 

He tasted it, barely got the mug away before Dean caught him in a kiss. Flirted a tongue, got Cas to open. Breath with a long, calm sigh. Dean thumbed his jaw, smiled. “No, it just think it tastes better on you,” he said. He watched Cas chew a smile away. 

“You’re a very effective flirt,” he relented. “But I’m still mad about the lights.”

“Yeah, well, get over it. It wasn’t… _entirely_ your fault. Besides, it was basically the standing ovation equivalent of a _Big O_.” He thought about it. Added, “You could even call it _A Standing Orgation_ if you wanted _.”_

Cas took another drink, brow quirking. “Could, but won’t,” he said, dashing Dean’s hopes against the rocks. “Even if it’s technically accurate on multiple levels.”

“Bah, fine.” He pulled Cas closer, rested a chin on his chest. “Then how ‘bout you tell me what you thought of the bar instead?”

Cas frowned. “What bar?” He suddenly searched his pockets and pulled a thin-tipped Sharpie from his slacks. Popped the cap. New frown blooming as he fanned fingers at Dean’s temples, leaned close to draw. “You mean the one from your mind?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiled, watching his face pinch as he retraced the sigil in blue. “The dream bar.”

“What about it?”

“What’d you think? I figured we could do something like that, but maybe spice it up. Make a Harvell’s 2.0 but implement all the warding from the bunker to make it safe. You know, build a kinda hunter hotspot for tips and cases and a place to unload. Sam could even use it as a hub.”

Cas’ eyes ate through his face. “Does that mean you’ll stay?” 

Dean took the pen from him, recapped it and tossed it toward the bookshelves. “Depends,” he said, throat suddenly dry. He slipped hands down Cas’ arms, laced their fingers. “How do you feel about going halfsies on a bar with me? You know… Partners, or whatever.”

A smile got away from him, split Cas wide. “That would make me very happ—” He stumbled, stopped. Eyes darting to the corners as something washed over him, dragged him under. 

“Cas— Whoa, hey. What?”

“No—“ Cas tumbled back, shook it off. “No, nothing.” He pasted a smile back on, but this time, it didn’t reach his eyes. “That would make me very happy,” he said quietly.

He kissed Dean, but it tasted desperate.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam rounded the stairs, paper bag of groceries on one hip and crushed glass in the tread of his boots. The bunker was dark, save for the spill of light in the library. He poked his head in, found Cas at the far table dressed in messy shirtsleeves and a haunted expression, copy of Vonnegut keeping company at his elbow.

He shuffled. “What the hell happened?” and Cas looked up, dropped his hands to his lap. He glanced at the hallway and the sound of the shower drifting in through the quiet. 

“Sam…” he said slowly. “We have a problem.”

“Like a…” Sam cleared his throat. Shifted the bag to the table. “Like, a new problem?” 

\----------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I’m winchester-reload on tumblr. Come say hi!](http://winchester-reload.tumblr.com/)


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